All or Nothing
by TheGreySpecies
Summary: Ginny blackmails Harry into dancing with her.


It was often said that true bravery lied in the ones that could best, not only their enemies, but also the people that one loved the most – to be bold enough to challenge them or indicate when they were wrong or perhaps introduce a perspective to them that they had never considered before.

In short, Harry Potter did not dance. Nor did he particularly _like_ occasions that forced him to reconsider his discomfort towards the art.

"I'd rather take a dragon," he had vowed to Ron, who had been within earshot. "Ten, twenty, thirty times . . . and never ask a girl for a dance–"

There had been a small flush on his face when he left, leaving Ron roaring with laughter behind him and also many disappointed faces from the girls that had heard him, being the famous wizard that he was, which he was quite impervious to.

That is, except one that had been quite bolstered by the challenge. He had been quite vehement in his assertion – in poor preparation, perhaps, to his challenger who was tucked in her eldest brother's arms, dressed in pale yellow robes that fluttered around her ankles, with matching yellow flowers over the loose bun of red hair that hung over her head, looking quite small around her brother and quite pretty, too. Needless to say, Ginny Weasley was in a good mood; and that was not always the best results of a day.

"Thanks for the dance, Bill," she tucked a stray hair behind her hair, sounding sort of breathless.

"Anything for you, Ginevra," quipped Bill with a grin.

"It's Ginny to you, thanks," she snatched back the necklace from his hands that he had somehow nicked from her during the dance. It had been a recent gift from her father that she had grown quite attached to.

But an idea suddenly crossed her; and she threw a furtive stare at her brother.

"You'll do anything for me? Anything I ask?"

"Anything," came the simple reply.

She raised a brow, and he imitated her gesture. "You don't believe me?" he asked in amusement. "Why? What've you got in mind?"

Her gaze instinctively drifted towards a spot in the room. He followed her stare and slowly broke into a wry smile.

"Ah, I see."

A guilty flush painted her cheeks.

"Well, I've danced with the lot of you," she said, almost defensively, referring to her brothers. "There's only one left. I mean, not that he's my brother or anything . . ." she added quickly.

"Not to you," he smirked. But at her glare, he quickly added. "I'll see what I can do."

Later that day, after promising a dance for all of her brothers, she found herself wobbling unpleasantly on her feet. Droves of young men approached her to ask for a dance, and she resisted the urge to snap at them and instead gritted her teeth to decline their offers. After six dances, her feet were sore and only bolstered her irritation; and she helplessly looked for an outing.

To her relief, she found one.

Forcibly parting the crowd around her, she wrenched the heels from her feet and trudged to the far end of the tent where a familiar bushy-haired young woman sat watching the couples dance with a drink in her hand and chatting animatedly with the young boy that sat next to her.

Ginny lifted the boy onto her lap and took the seat beside her sister-in-law. Hermione threw her a glare at her manners, or lack of.

"Wotcher, Teddy," she nuzzled her nose against his neck and pressed a loud and sloppy kiss to his cheeks, drawing giggles from the younger boy. He squirmed in her arms and tried to wrench himself free, but she had a strong grip around his chest that prevented him from escaping – a part of her bolstered, perhaps, by the now red-haired boy that inadvertently tried to match her appearance. He might have been her a son, or a brother.

"Looking for trouble, Ginny?" demanded Hermione with an expected look in her eyes.

Her brow raised in enquiry over the boy's hair. "Who's looking for trouble? You're the one looking to bite my head off–"

"You stole Teddy's seat!" she shrilled.

"It's okay," interjected the young boy quickly, sounding a little too eager to deflate the argument. And Ginny tickled him for good measure.

"Always the modest one, aren't you?" she laughed. "Your godfather's been a bad influence on you, hasn't he?"

He blushed but still held his smile.

"I'm sure you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Ginny?" smirked Hermione. Ginny resisted the urge to splatter some nearby tart on her face.

Deliberately ignoring the comment, she tried to sneak in small kisses onto the young boy, but he blocked her with his hand, his small body quaking with giggles. And she felt a rush of tenderness for the young orphan whom she treated with a certain delicacy that others rarely saw of her. She threw a furtive glance at her sister-in-law, who sat watching the scene with a small smile, albeit a hint of annoyance as well.

"I think you've gotten a bit too bold, Hermione. Time to head back to the library, don't you think?" she added with a smirk.

Hermione's raised a brow. "You could do with a bit of time there yourself," she shot back. "Perhaps do a bit of studying on some famous wizards . . ."

The familiar smug look returned to her face.

Ginny shot her a glare over Teddy's now blue-coloured hair. "Witty," she said with a bite in her voice. "You know, sometimes I think we Sort too soon."

Her face reddened.

"Just what are you implying?" demanded Hermione. "I'm as much as a Gryffindor as you are. Or is this banter not proof enough?"

"But certainly not as reckless," she added with a grin, bolstered by the light banter.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Certainly not–"

"Or impulsive–"

"Good heavens, no–"

"Teddy," shouted Ginny's mother. "Come here for a moment."

He climbed out of Ginny's lap and looked somewhat relieved to leave the two having a not-so-affectionate argument.

The two young women watched the boy depart, with Ginny a little too reluctant to let him go, knowing that her sister-in-law was close to bursting out on her and that she had only prevented herself from doing so out of respect for Teddy than anything else. Sure enough, as soon as her little buffer was out of sight, Hermione rounded on Ginny with a sour look on her face.

"What brought you here?"

"I'm knackered," she threw herself back into the chair with an audible groan. "And these heels . . . Merlin, how can girls walk around with these things? They're thinner than a wand!"

"Well, I'm sure Fleur can replace them later–" she reassured with a bit of concern in her voice.

"Replace them?" she cried. "They're _ghastly_!"

Hermione's eyes widened to the size of Galleons when Ginny ripped the heels off of her feet and let them clatter to the floor in a very un-ladylike fashion.

"_Ginny_," she clapped a hand to her mouth in horror. "You can't just – take them off – oh, now everyone's going to think we're some–some . . . _scarlet women_," Ginny fought hard to bite back a laugh. "Oh, look, they've already started staring–"

"Don't worry, Hermione," she said, bending down to massage her sore feet. "I'll reserve your dignity for the both of us."

But Hermione's iron grip around her arm became painful that Ginny had to fight the urge to wince. "Oh, please, Ginny," she pleaded, looking a bit flustered. "Have a bit of sense. Put them back on–"

"Not a chance!"

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Hermione. "It's not proper–"

"What's not proper is losing my feet–" she said hotly.

Hermione blew out an irritated breath. "Oh, you're so dramatic," she hissed. "It's a formal occasion, you could at least have a bit of decency–"

"Right," she held up a hand to silence her. "That's exactly what I don't need to hear right now."

Hermione glared at her but eventually sighed and relented. A tense silence fell between the two, with Ginny a little too unperturbed by its hostility; and she also knew that Hermione would not let the matter slide, especially not in a formal setting like this one.

"Harry looks quite dashing today," commented Hermione at the figure at the far end of the tent that had many people craning their necks to see him – although it was more out of fame than anything else. Irresistibly, Ginny followed her gaze to the far end of the tent and turned back to glare at her.

"Eyes on the floor, dear," she warned. "Your wedding was only last month."

The smug look on her face did not diminish. If anything, she started to feign innocence. "I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about."

"Ogling someone who's not your husband–"

This time, it was Hermione's turn to burn beet red. "I wasn't _ogling_," she said defensively. "It's completely harmless–"

"I think my brothers might need to exchange a few words with you, Hermione–" added Ginny loudly.

"Perhaps they might need to chide their sister on jumping to conclusions too quickly," she shot back. "Or perhaps on doing too much ogling herself . . ." she added with a grin.

Ginny seriously considered having a word with Ron over what he had done to the prim and uptight Hermione. In an unfortunate timing, perhaps, her sister-in-law had gotten quite bold lately and was growing to be quite the Weasley already.

"You should probably get back to your prat of a husband, Hermione," she went on in a flat tone. "I'm sure he'll be worried–"

"That I'm around an equally bad influence?" she shrilled with a very McGonagall-like jut of her chin.

In spite of herself, Ginny laughed.

"Careful, Hermione," she quipped. "You might catch the Weasley."

A pretty flush coloured her cheeks. She bent her head towards her lap and traced a thumb around the rim of her glass around her hands, looking a bit flustered and pleased. "Well," she confessed with a guilty smile. "That _is_ what I signed up for, isn't it?"

In spite of her annoyance with the other woman, Ginny smiled and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Glad to have you part of the family," she said with a bit of earnest and tenderness in her voice.

Her friend blushed at the praise but still beamed.

"Ginny, I've got something for you," said a voice behind her. They whipped around to find Bill standing behind them.

"All right, Hermione?"

"Never better," she smiled back at him.

He turned to whisper something in Ginny's ears. After a quick word, he threw a furtive and polite smile to the two and left.

"What was that about?" asked Hermione once Bill was out of earshot.

"Oh, nothing," she said hastily, rising to her feet. Her grin threatened to ruin the effect. And Hermione caught on quickly, looking quite suspicious.

"Ginny."

There was a stern warning in her voice. But her sister-in-law ignored her and hastened her pace.

"Oh, do stay out of trouble," called Hermione worriedly. Ginny threw her a furtive smirk and went on.

Bolstered by a purpose, she plucked a glass that floated nearby and weaved expertly through the crowd towards the far end of the tent where a figure stood alone, leaning against a wall, dressed in simple green dress robes, his head ducked over an object that he was fiddling with in his hand. The sound of the crowd had mitigated; it was relatively quiet and peaceful back here . . . It was a wonder that no one had caught him here, as famous as he was . . .

Swallowing away her jittery nerves that only appeared around him, she approached him, mindful enough not to startle him.

"Enjoying the night, Harry?"

He looked up, his face drawn in a frown, his eyes still glazed in thought. Then his face cleared and a recognition appeared on his face.

"Ginny."

He smiled at her; and she respectfully returned the gesture with an irritating flutter in her chest.

He stowed the object away in his robes and turned to her. "What brought you here? I thought you were dancing with your brothers."

Irresistibly, she smirked. "Well, I was," she said lightly with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But I saw you here, and I reckoned you might like some company."

In her head, the words were smooth and immaculate . . . But for some reason, he seemed suspicious, and she cursed his job yet again.

"Well, I was trying to get away from the crowd," he said with a raised brow. "Ron said you had something to tell me–"

"Fancy a dance, Harry?"

The words flew out of her mouth before she could even think to say it. For the first time that night, she felt her face flush to the roots of her hair, and she resisted the urge to kick herself. She had asked a total of six men to dance with her – _seven_, including Neville. Not to mention, droves of young men her age had asked for her hand, and just as boldly, and just as dashingly, too. Why was this one any different than the others?

But her embarrassment was short-lived. Her flush quickly became one of fury by his sudden amusement towards her situation. It seemed like he had suspected her from the start.

"No, thanks," he grinned.

Livid, she drew herself to her full height, which was precisely two inches shorter than him. She cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled:

"Weasleys!"

Suddenly, there was a thunder of footsteps. Harry suddenly found himself surrounded by flaming-haired and freckled-faced Weasleys – all seven of them, all pinning him to the spot. And he certainly looked like he would rather take a dragon than stand there in the center of them.

"What's this we hear?" started Fred, grabbing Harry by the scruff of the neck. "Harry, mistreating our sister–"

Harry's jaw fell open.

"_Mistreating_?"

He ducked under Fred's arm and straightened with a baffled but disgruntled expression on his face.

"Good thing her brothers are here to save her – all the way from Romania, too," grinned Charlie. "Isn't that right, boys?"

There was a chorus of "hear, hear" from the lot.

"Well, excluding Ron–" added Fred helpfully.

He dodged the elbow with a grin. Their parents had spotted the hoard of red-haired children from across the room and beamed but made no move to intervene.

"Look here, boys," smirked Ginny, drawing their attention again. "Didn't I tell you? This one's got spunk. He won't dance with me."

"The nerve on that man," chorused the twins.

"I don't dance," said Harry hotly.

The twins cracked their knuckles with wicked grins on their faces. "Not tonight you won't," they threatened. "Sister knows best, Harry."

"And that's singular," piped in Percy sternly. "We have precisely _one_ sister, so we can't lose her–"

"If we hear you've been breaking her heart–" started Ron in a threatening voice.

"Or messing her around–" added Charlie.

"You won't have to worry about a bunch of Death Eaters killing you, Harry. We'll kill you first," finished Bill with a dashing and supercilious smile.

"Get in line," said Harry dryly, drawing a series of snickers around him.

They were clearly enjoying taking the mickey out of Harry, especially Ron, who often turned against his best mate only for the sake of his sister.

Harry looked a far cry from the calm and determined spirit that had the brawn and nerve to slay the Dark Lord. There was a prominent flush across his cheeks and a grimace at the not-so-sincere threats from her brothers around him. He looked ready to flee the scene, and she suppressed a snicker at the thought.

"Blimey," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd better watch my back, then. All this for a dance?"

"Are you rejecting me, Harry?" she piped in loudly with a bold grin.

Harry looked irritated and nearly opened his mouth to retort when the glares of her brothers forced him into silence. He sighed and threw a disgruntled stare at them before, much to her surprise, he outstretched a hand in invitation.

"Have it, then," he mumbled in irritation.

She beamed and slipped her hand into his callused one, not daring to flaunt her victories just in case he decided to retract his word.

"Good man, Harry," grinned the twins, clapping him on the shoulders.

"Good luck, Harry," yelled Bill. "You're in for a treat."

"Don't bring her back, Harry," called Ron with his hands cupped around his mouth, drawing laughter from her brothers. "You can keep her."

Ginny laughed when Harry threw a dark look at his friend. He waited until they were out of earshot of her brothers before he rounded on her.

"That was complete blackmail, Ginny."

"I can't believe that worked," she wiped an imaginary tear from her eyes and laughed at his scowl.

"What was that for?" he said, a vestige of irritation in his voice. "You could've asked any bloke in the room, I'm sure they won't mind–"

"_You_ don't mind, do you, Harry?" she added innocently.

"They'd all be lining up for you–" he added, desperate to find an outing.

"Not _every_ bloke–"

She laughed again at his scowl, suddenly feeling giddy and excited. This was certainly an opportunity of a life-time: getting Harry Potter to dance with her. She suddenly felt a lot bolder, although he did not seem to share her dreadful enthusiasm.

They reached the floor with her practically steering her reluctant companion by the arm. She rolled her eyes and gave a forceful tug of his arm, ignoring the flitter of warmth that stirred in her chest at the contact. Much to her relief, and in some sense, annoyance, he was much too annoyed to notice what he was unintentionally doing to her.

"And besides," she said, guiding his hand to her waist. "Most of them haven't got the spunk to try and ask. They're terrified of my brothers–" she added at his questioning look.

He stopped in his tracks with a raised brow.

"And what just happened now?"

"_You're_ afraid of my brothers?"

To say she was surprised was an understatement. What a frivolous thing to be scared of, coming from someone like him.

He reached up to push his glasses up his nose. "It's six against one, Ginny. Of course I'd be a bit rattled."

In spite of herself, a tender smile crossed her face.

"You shouldn't. They love you," she reassured, appreciating the warm and nonchalant atmosphere. It was certainly not at as awkward and uncomfortable as around other men her age. "They might even be terrified of _you_."

It was, in a sense, true. Their often teasing and tearing at each other's throat mitigated with Harry, whom they considered as their seventh brother, partly because he was orphaned and younger than they were, and partly because he was naturally polite and friendly to them; and they had no choice but to reciprocate his respect. In fact, they were more delicate with Harry than they were with even their younger sister; and she suppressed a giggle at the thought.

He shot her a bemused look. "Why?"

"Well, _you're_ the one doing the saving," she added with a smirk. "You won't try to hurt me, won't you, Harry?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," he grimaced. "Because right now, I think _I'm_ the damsel."

She burst into laughter.

They kept a light and good-natured conversation, occasionally trading insults or having a laugh at doe-eyed couples that passed. And after a moment, she nearly forgot that they were in a room full of people. The world seemed to have shrunk. And soon, they fell into a comfortable silence. He seemed distracted by something in the crowd – perhaps something related to his work; and she took the opportunity to drink in his features, which he did not often deign to permit: from the thoughtful furrow of his brow, or the purse of his lip when musing over an idea, or the small lock of black hair that curled behind his ear, and the vivid green eyes that seemed to sift every inch and every corner of the room that she supposed should be entirely illegal for a male to possess.

But the cold sensation around her feet reminded her of something . . . It had nearly slipped her mind to tell him . . .

Suddenly, she leaned forward with a roguish smile on her face.

"Harry."

He looked up, his eyes still glazed in thought. And for a moment, she lost whatever she had been intending to say to him and felt a traitorous heat reach the roots of her hair.

"What is it, Ginny?" His voice sounded hazy and distant in her ears. And she had the strongest urge to kick herself.

"There-there's something I want to tell you," she put in, flustered, cursing herself for falling for one in a thousand things that she loved to despise about him.

He shot her a questioning look. And she straightened, regaining some of her humour at the cold sensation of her feet against the floor. Behind him, she heard a loud gasp and caught sight of her mother looking at the pair, her hand clapped over her mouth, a look of pure horror on her face while Ginny's father leaned over her ear, clearly trying to reassure her while biting back a laugh.

With a winning grin, she met the bright green eyes of her companion, whom she had left quite impatient.

"Well, it's quite embarrassing," she admitted with a sheepish smile.

"You don't have to tell me, Ginny," was his quick reply. Perhaps he assumed her flush was one of embarrassment and not because she was so deeply and terribly besotted with him.

"Well," she began, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "since you agreed to dance with me, I thought you should know . . ."

She drew in a deep breath and leaned forward, close enough to admire the gold and green specks around his pupils, thinking, perhaps, that she could stare at him forever and never tire of it . . . But before she could lose herself any further, she jerked a finger towards her feet and whispered:

"I'm bare-foot, Harry."

Biting back a laugh at his look of alarm, she pulled back from his grip and let his hand fall from her waist only to step back to lift a foot in demonstration. And sure enough, her small feet were in stark display. His eyes widened, and his face slowly split into a grin of disbelief, and she could hear the crowds in her head chanting with delight . . .

"_What_?" he breathed out a laugh. "What happened to your shoes?" he asked, glancing between her and bare-feet.

He sounded concerned but ready to burst into laughter. And her affection for him swelled. He looked ready to sift the room apart to find them.

"I ditched them," she said boldly, not a vestige of care or regret in her voice. Harry looked at her as if she had an entire string of Christmas lights wrapped around her. "And don't you go biting my head for it because I haven't the slightest _clue_ where I left them–"

"_Ginny_!"

But before she could elaborate, her mother had apparently wrenched herself away from her now-laughing father and crossed the room towards the two, her face torn in horror and laughter, holding a pair of sleek yellow heels that her sister-in-law, Fleur, had gifted her in her mother's hands, which she eyed with clear repulsion.

"Ginny!" she exclaimed. "Oh, what am I going to do with you? The one time that I asked you to wear heels–"

"They killed my feet, Mum," she protested, hopping on one foot to massage a foot. "Look at my blisters, I'm going to look like Ron soon – worse than a troll, honestly–"

Harry burst into laughter. Even her mother was smiling. She seemed torn between chiding her daughter or bursting into giggles herself.

"And that's an excuse to walk around bare-foot, Ginny?" she reprimanded, crossing the distance and offering her daughter her shoes. "In the middle of a wedding? Really?" Ginny stared at them distastefully but grudgingly took them – for her mother's sake alone.

"It's enough that you embarrassed Harry–"

But Harry, who had been quite entertained by the spectacle, was quick to defend her.

"It's fine, Mrs Weasley," he added, still smiling. Ginny shot her mother a smug look behind him. "Really, I wasn't embarrassed at all. Ginny was just having a laugh–"

"But I _wasn't_ having a laugh," she protested and ignored his 'I'm-doing-this-for-you' warning glance.

Bolstered by the silent challenge, she drew back her hair and turned to him with a hand on her hip.

"Let's not the forget the niceties, Harry," she added loudly, drawing her mother's attention and pointedly reminding him of the dance that he had dreaded.

He looked more amused than irritated by the offer. She made a mock gesture of curtesy with her yellow robes with the silent warning to follow. And sure enough, he sank into a bow at the waist, holding her gaze with that large grin that reached his laughing eyes. Perhaps he must have sensed her melt because he laughed and gave her a wink before he turned on his heel and left with his green robes fluttering behind him, leaving her blushing to her roots, albeit still smiling.

"We can always go for another round, Potter," she suggested after him. He threw back a furtive and amused glance but made no move to come back. "I'll wear my heels this time."

"Not a chance," he yelled back.

"You owe me one," she called with her hands cupped around her mouth. "That one didn't count."

Particularly not after her temporary handicap . . . or so, she deemed . . .

He smiled and threw her a thumbs up before disappearing through the crowd. Amused more than irritated by the rejection, she watched him weave expertly through the crowd and out of the tent, her mind quite vacant of rationality.

"Mum," said Ginny suddenly, sounding a bit breathless. Her eyes fixed at the place of his departure.

There was a strain in her mother's voice when she responded.

"Yes, dear?"

Absently, she turned to glance at her mother. The woman was biting her lip to stop herself from laughing, and Ginny quickly caught herself.

She suddenly felt foolish. But she couldn't help herself. He was the only capable of making her blush. And even her own mother did not think it was normal to find her daughter that flustered. Her. Captain of the Holyhead Harpies. Sister to no less than six brothers.

And to think . . . he hadn't even told her anything cloyingly romantic. Nothing soppy like "I love you" or "your laugh is like Fiendifyre to flesh." In fact, she didn't even think he was capable of anything that blokes often did to make their girl swoon. No flirting, or midnight walks under the moon, or undying proclamation of love, or frivolous pet-naming. He was just himself. He treated her just like everyone else . . .

And he drove her _bonkers_.

Stiffly, she straightened and shot her mother a withering look before she curled her arm around her mother's and pointedly led her to a table of drinks in the corner.

"Hey, Mum," she said lightly. "Do you think you arrange something soon – maybe in the next week or so?"

Her mother shot her a furtive and worried glance. "Well, there _is_ Percy's wedding coming soon, and he hadn't settled a date yet . . . And you know Percy. It doesn't take much effort to convince him."

A wicked grin crossed her daughter's face.

"Brilliant."

Ginny nearly lost herself in the wicked inventions of her mind until something ran into her and nearly toppled her over. She found herself under the embrace of her mother.

"My daughter's in love," she cried soppily.

Ginny laughed and patted her mother's arm, realising, perhaps, the frivolity of denying it. "I take it that you approve, then?"

"Why, I can't imagine anyone better," she proclaimed, pulling back from her rip-crushing embrace. "He's brave and noble . . . and certainly bold enough to endure your terrible tantrums."

Ginny was too caught up in her inner constructions to notice the subtle stab at her. The words had yet to compute in her mind. But when it did, she blinked dumbly and cried–

"_Mum_!"

Her mother laughed and passed her a drink, which accepted with a smile.

"Well, now I suppose I'm not the only doting on a boy," she laughed, dodging her mother's hand. "Oh, and the next time I try to woo someone, I'm not doing it wearing _these_," she lifted the heels with a grimace.

But her mother laughed and matched her wicked grin that she had donned earlier.

"Oh, were you the one doing the wooing?" she teased, pulling back a strand red hair that had fallen in Ginny's face. Her daughter huffed in return. "But perhaps they brought you good luck, dear?"

Ginny looked up with wide eyes at the realisation then let her gaze drift back to the heels, and her thoughtful expression suddenly dominated her previously sour expression. And suddenly, they didn't seem so bad, after all.

Or the lack of _not_ wearing them.

There certainly weren't enough blokes that would be fine with something as informal as a shoe-less, bare-footed girl that clearly had no qualms about a stray hair strand or mis-matched coloured socks in such a prim and formal occasions and have a laugh about it afterwards.

And she smiled.

Then something suddenly struck her. And she looked around the room for a balding red-headed someone that she certainly had not forgotten. She found him at the other end of the room, hovering over a table of deserts, deep in an animated conversation with both Bill and Charlie. She handed her glass to her mother and offered a hasty mutter of gratitude before she stealthily snuck up on him from behind. But her brothers caught her with amused looks and directed her father's gaze towards her. He whipped around to follow their fingers. Once he caught sight of her, his face slowly broke into a beaming smile.

She saddled up to him and looped an arm around his.

"I certainly didn't forget about you, Dad," she quipped with a smile, aware that she had danced with all of her brothers. "Do you mind if I steal him a bit?" she addressed her brothers.

The more tame out of the brothers, they shook their heads and gave their blessings. Their eyes drifted down to her feet, and they smirked.

"Have fun, Dad," grinned Bill.

"Bring him back by nine," called Charlie, causing those who heard to laugh.

Ginny grinned and offered him a thumbs up before turning to her dad, whose face was bright with good humour.

"Thanks for the save, Dad."

He tried to feign innocence. "I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about, dear."

She smiled at him. "You talked Mum out of being angry with me. I saw that."

He pried his arm from her grip and reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "All right, I confess, I'd do anything for my Ginger-Snap," he proclaimed, tapping her nose with a finger, sounding as soppy as her mother that she laughed.

"Right," she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "but you're all right dancing with a temporarily impaired daughter?"

He looked confused for a moment. She giggled and raised a foot pointedly, and the world seemed to still before he burst into laughter.

* * *

A/N: Honestly, Harry and Ginny have to be the most fun relationship to write. There's so much energy and life. They're very similiar to each other, and bold and reckless, and not as romantic, I think, and but also very giving and family-oriented, which is always a joy to write. I don't like it when people write Ginny to be awkward (like the movies) around Harry. I think humour and fun times are definitely a main part of their relationship, and I think people underestimate that. They're definitely not the traditional couple.

R&R!


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